


Do You Want To Feel A Little Beautiful, Baby?

by Obviously_Sherlocked_Anya



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, all right, i apologise in advance for the idioticy, i just wanted some immediate post-case fluff, is that so bad, its short and stupid but its super duper cute, no, stupid ficlet is stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-13 04:50:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1213321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Obviously_Sherlocked_Anya/pseuds/Obviously_Sherlocked_Anya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock finally solves his agonizing case, and gets rewarded with his lovely little John Watson-Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do You Want To Feel A Little Beautiful, Baby?

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I got the title from 'Young Volcanoes' by Fall Out Boy.  
> No, don't judge me.  
> It's barely five-hundred words, please, be merciful.

Sherlock’s twitching, sculpted fingers were tangled deep in his unruly, knotted curls. Sweat broke across his forehead, and beaded languorously down his temples. His cheeks were flushed a gingery crimson, dark and salient. His lips were chapped and split, dried blood, thankfully, lapped away. His eyes prickled with dampness, his pupils blown, the nipping wind poking at his coiled nerves. He kept muttering, his gaze darting upwards occasionally, as thoughts overwhelmed his brain.

But, all that once, that pregnant silence burst, and he released everything. 

“The maid of honor!”

His voice was a crackling, roughened rumble of a baritone, scratchy and hoarse, but damn, it sounded bloody hot. John had to pop his collar, to keep from overheating. 

“What?”

“The maid of honor. It was maid of honor, oh God, John, I’ve solved it!” Sherlock exclaimed triumphantly, grinning idiotically at his husband. Weeks and weeks of papers and files and interrogations, based solely off two unfortunate murders and a robbery, he was through with it. Christ,  finally .

“Oh, love, I—” John was abruptly interrupted, by Sherlock’s lips, no less. He felt a whoosh of air beneath him, and belatedly realised that he had been lifted up, and had his legs wound tight around Sherlock’s middle, whilst snogging him ardently. 

“Y-You’re brilliant, sweetheart,” he stammered, tearing himself away, desperate to praise his stunning husband.  
“You always say that,” Fuck, he was  breathing out words, and chuckling  breathlessly , in that rich dark chocolate voice. John was no match for such alluring vocal cords.

John’s thicker fingers groped around blindly, wandering up to Sherlock’s hair, briefly tickling his ear, as they combed through the bouncing curls, jittery with evident excitement. 

“You’re beautiful.” 

“Am I?”

“You are. God, you’re so gorgeous, the moment you crack a case like this. All beaten and sweat-drenched. You looked well-shagged, honestly.”

“Mm, I suppose my mind had a nice shag. I think, though, that my body is due one also. Can you fill my prescription, doctor?” 

John huffed a laugh at the cliché offering, but still nodded nonetheless. 

“Of course I can, you berk. Get me home. I want to cuddle with you so badly, God, I’ve missed you so much.”

“I have to speak with Lestrade, though.”

“Do it in the morning?”

“But he—”

“I’ll give you as many rounds as you want, if you hail a cab now, and forget Lestrade, just for tonight.” 

“You’re going to regret that.”

“I always do. Home. Now.” 

Sherlock did get a beating - with the file for this maid of honor case, no less - from Lestrade, the morning following his night of excessive shagging and cuddling, but God, it was worth it. He did have a certain John Watson-Holmes, naked, patiently awaiting his return, for round thirteen and beyond. 

Maybe he should take level seven cases more often. They did make him more beautiful, thus, more shag-worthy. That meant more bare-arsed, writhing John for him, and that was always, without any doubt, very, very good.


End file.
